my grandfather rode horses for a living
across the open plains of Montana
he could field strip a rifle
or fix and engine block with baling wire
like a McGuyver cowboy
I am the grandson of pioneers
a son of a barrel racer
a nephew of bull riders
who wear cowboy hats out of necessity
not fashion
but they're always removed for church
"praise God
and pass the ammunition,
a pack of coyots have been harassing my herd
and after communion
we'll ride out and find them"
these men are better armed than gangsters
but it serves a purpose
they don't care where you come from
who you fuck
the hue of your skin
or your first language
"can you rope?
can you ride?
can you work?"
beyond that, most things don't matter
"in the name of
Hank Williams,
Johnny Cash,
John Wayne,
and America, amen"
this is my West
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